Ransom Redeemed (24 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

For a man who had suffered a terrible beating eleven days ago, he was remarkably strong and lively. His crutches cast aside, he immediately set about unbuttoning her gown, pulling a few of them loose in his haste.

"Mary," he groaned, kissing the nape of her neck and sending shivers down her spine. "How I have longed for this moment."

"I suppose you haven't had to wait before," she quipped. "I do hope I won't be a disappointment."

"Impossible." His tongue traced her spine downward as her velvet gown fell in ripples from her shoulders, and then he eased each arm from its sleeve, paying diligent attention with his lips, to every newly exposed inch of limb.

"I haven't the slightest idea what to do," she confessed. There were no books on her shelves that dealt with this subject, and romantic novels all ended at the bedroom door.

"Fortunately for you," he nibbled on her earlobe as he began to unlace her corset, "I do."

"Yes, I suppose...there is...some...advantage...to one of us...know...knowing..." and soon after this she forgot what she'd been saying. Mary closed her eyes and leaned back against his body, trusting him completely.

"Don't forget to breathe, Mary my love," he chuckled as his hands loosened the ribbon at her waist, disposing of her petticoats in one deft move. "I thought I was the one who would have to worry about that."

She opened her eyes and caught their reflection in a mirrored wall panel. They were both naked by then, she in only her stockings. He was wildly beautiful. Something about him reminded her of a very fine Friesian horse that she saw once when her brothers took her to a fare. What would he say, Mary wondered, if she told him he reminded her of a horse? His eyes gleamed at her in the reflection, sparking with desire.

"Take down your hair," he whispered.

Quickly she did as he asked, until it fell over her shoulder in a long braid, and then he took over, too impatient to wait.

He lifted her to the bed, kissing her deeply and yet with a gentleness she could never have expected.

"Don't hurt yourself," she urged, concerned again about his injuries. "I'm sure parts of you are still swollen."

He laughed huskily, although she had no idea what was amusing. Until a few minutes later.

There were, Mary discovered that evening, some things one simply couldn't learn from books. But the study was no less satisfying and, she ventured to say, considerably more enjoyable.

* * * *

Several hours later, as they lay entwined in the sheets and each other, warm and sated— for the time being—he kissed Mary's loose, tumbled hair and said drowsily, "Why on earth did you agree to marry me? What were you thinking?" He wanted to keep hearing her say it.

A relaxed feeling had overtaken his body and, for once, made him in no hurry to leave the bed, not even to use the washbasin or fetch a glass of wine. Instead he wanted to go on, holding her there in his arms until somebody came to check that they were still alive.

"You decided it while I wasn't even here," she reminded him.

"But you went along with it."

"Yes. In a moment of sheer madness, I took that reckless chance. A part of me thought you'd change your mind, in any case."

He tangled his fingers in the silky, perfumed ropes of her dark hair, marveling at the softness, the way it curled around him like a living creature, passionate and possessive.

"See, Mary, we managed, despite the lack of shared interests and conversation."

He felt her laughter before he heard it, and then she lifted her head from his chest to look at him. "I believe I discovered one interest we share, sir."

"I'll show you some more in a while," he promised.

"You're not tired? Perhaps you ought to sleep."

He grinned, slipping his hand down to clasp the round, warm, rosy cheek of her bottom. "Plenty of time to sleep, wife, when I'm dead."

* * * *

The next morning he woke very early. While Mary still slept soundly, he left the bed, dressed and took his horse to Curzon Street, where he rang the bell at a very grand house and waited for several moments before the door was opened.

A bored-looking butler appeared to ask what he wanted.

"Is Lord Stanbury at home?" he enquired. "My name is Ransom Deverell, and I have some business with him. I apologize for calling on Christmas morning, but it is a matter of some urgency."

The butler's eyes wrinkled at the corners as he swept Ransom with a slow, careful appraisal from hat to boot and back again. "I shall see if his lordship is at home, sir. Please wait here." Apparently he was not to be offered the comfort of waiting indoors on that chilly morning.

After a considerable time, the butler reappeared. "I'm sorry, sir, but his lordship is not at home after all. Do you possess a card that you can leave?"

"No, I do not." He tipped his hat. "But please tell his lordship— when he returns— that I will call again. Merry Christmas to you." With that he walked down the steps, mounted his horse and trotted away down the street. He turned the corner and then stopped to dismount again and wait.

Less than five minutes later, Stanbury emerged from the house in some haste, looking warily about, his coat collar turned up against the wind.

Ransom rode after the scurrying figure and then, in the middle of the pavement, cut the fellow off, leaping down from his saddle with only a slight pinch of pain to his chest. Just enough to remind him and keep the anger burning.

"Stanbury. You and I have some business to discuss, do we not?"

The man slipped on some ice, but stayed upright. "I do not know who you are."

"Oh, I think you do. You should, since those were your men that I encountered in the alley behind my club recently. In the dark."

"You mistake me for another. Excuse me. Stand aside."

But Ransom held his ground, feet apart, eyes narrowed. "Of course, a gentleman who believes himself — or his wife—wronged by another man, should call the scoundrel out and propose a duel. Is that not the proper and honorable way these disputes are settled?"

"I do not know you, sir. I suggest you let me pass or I'll—"

"But you're not a gentleman, are you, Stanbury? You're a bloody milksop coward who can't get his hands dirty, so he sends other men to do the task for him."

The man's face was white. A flicker of terror shot through his eyes as they darted from side to side and he weighed his options in that empty street. "Whoever gave you this information is a liar," he hissed, jowls trembling. "Possibly a woman with an axe to grind against me."

"Nobody gave me any information." Ransom sputtered with harsh laughter. "I'm not as daft as I look,
your lordship
. I can put two and two together, even when my brains been knocked about in my head."

He knew that Stanbury, looking for somebody to pay for his wife's indiscretion, had chosen to blame him. Why not? Ransom Deverell was an easy scapegoat, a safe bet when it came to finding a villain responsible for any indiscretion committed. And Stanbury was the sort of man who only ever chose the "safe" bet.

Ransom was not about to inform the coward that he'd got the wrong Deverell. He'd take a beating for his brother. After all, his head was thicker than most.

He chuckled dourly. "There's not much you do for yourself, is there, Stanbury? Even your wife had to find another man to get your duty done for you."

It was a flash of the old Ransom— the desire to goad the ass into an honest brawl, in broad daylight, one on one, a fair fight. But Stanbury shrank into his own boots. "I'm telling you it had nothing to do with me. I don't know who those men were. They did not act on my command."

That, naturally, would be the excuse he gave to the Peelers if they were ever called upon. And he, a titled knob, would be believed in an instant.

Didn't mean Ransom couldn't serve the man a little punishment of his own.

"Well, I'll let it pass this time. After all, I owe you a debt, don't I, Stanbury?"

The man's jaw twitched angrily. "A debt?" he spat.

Ransom leaned close and whispered. "If you hadn't set Mary Ashford free, she would never have been mine. And I wouldn't be on my way home now to rejoin my beautiful, extremely passionate, and rather naughty wife in bed. The greatest Christmas gift any man could have. Good God, Stanbury, I almost feel sorry for you. If I wasn't such a selfish, wicked, unconscionable scapegallows, I would."

With that he mounted his horse and tipped his hat, before riding away, leaving a speechless, wilted George Stanbury standing in the snow. Quite alone.

* * * *

Mary sat up, clutching the counterpane to her bosom when he came in. "Where have you been?" The half empty breakfast tray on the bed proved that she'd been replenished by a thoughtful Smith while he was gone.

"My sweet, I just remembered an errand that called me away."

"On Christmas morning?" she demanded.

"It couldn't wait, I'm afraid. There was no better time to do it, but today." He grinned smugly, thinking again of George Stanbury's face.

Raven's letter, received yesterday when he returned from the Royal Institution, had told him all about Mary's engagement to the cad and how he broke her heart. It had been on Ransom's mind since then and his first order of business, when he woke that morning, was to serve that ass a long-overdue set down. He could not get on with his day until he had done that. For his new wife, as much as for himself.

"But don't pout, Mary, my delectable basket of cabbages! Your loving husband has returned to continue the deflowering now that you are awake, rested and," he took the tray and set it on the floor, "apparently well fed."

"But I haven't finished! There's cake with chocolate and cream!"

He took a flying, sideways leap onto the bed, tugging the covers out of her hands, eager to crawl into that warm bed with her.

"Ransom! Your boots. Not with them on surely!"

She was right, he realized. In his ungentlemanly haste to get back to business, he'd forgotten his boots. Not the first time he'd kept them on at such a time, of course. But he had absolutely no desire to leave
this
woman's side in haste, and if the house burned down let it. So Ransom removed one boot and she the other, then he tossed them across the room.

"Hurry up then." She snuggled close. "Because I want my lovely cake."

It was then that he noticed something missing from the wall. "Just a moment, madam! What have you done with La Contessa?"

She paused, looked up from beneath a tangle of dark hair and exclaimed hotly, "I couldn't have her glowering down at me so pious and disapproving, could I? It was quite off-putting. What does she, a naive, silly girl, know about men and love?"

Ransom laughed and wrapped his arms around her. "Quite right, darling. We wouldn't want to make her blush."

Besides, he had the real Contessa in his bed now, didn't he?

Epilogue

Dear Mary - and now my SISTER;

It seems you could not heed my advice and married my despicable brother, despite everything! I give up. Why does nobody ever listen to me?

And there I was, always thinking you a moderately sensible woman.

I cannot wait to see you and hear all about it. Do come to Greyledge when you can and, if you must, bring my damnable brother. I suppose I must resolve myself to your utter ruin. At least now I finally have a sister and you had better always be on my side. It's only fair as you were
my
friend first...

*

Mr. and Mrs. Ransom Deverell;

You are invited by Lady Charlotte Rothsey Deverell to an evening soiree at eight o'clock, on December 31st, 1850, at Mivart's Hotel. RSVP

(I trust, Mary, that you shall continue your visits? Or am I to be tossed aside by you too now? You, at least, always showed me kindness and seemed to appreciate the respect I am due. Your sister, though a sweet girl, makes altogether too much noise and dust. The sooner we get her married the better, but you are right in that a little clerk won't do. We must aim for greater heights.)

*

My Dear Mrs. Deverell (Mary);

I was so thrilled to hear that Ransom had taken a wife. Please know that you are welcome at Roscarrock whenever you can come, indeed the sooner the better. I look forward to meeting you, as I hear from my husband that you are quite lovely and something of a miracle worker. He returns to us for the new year, and perhaps you could both travel to Cornwall with him then?

Welcome to the family, my dear. We are all delighted and eager to make your acquaintance.

Yours sincerely,

Olivia Westcott Ollerenshaw Pemberton Monday Deverell

* * * *

Mr. and Mrs. R. Deverell;

I saw in the newspaper that congratulations are in order. Best wishes to you both, although I must wonder at Miss Ashford's sanity.

Ransom, I owe you an apology. Although you sent me on a fool's chase to Yorkshire, I understand why you did so, and subsequent events have given me cause to be thankful for the misdirection.

I can divulge nothing more in a letter. Suffice to say, I may remain in Yorkshire for some time. Fret not.

If you get to my lodgings, would you be so kind as to pack up my better boots, my special dice and my collapsible top hat, and send them off to Darkest Fathoms Hall, near Whitby? Don't tell father. Not that there is anything amiss, you understand. But better he not be concerned for the time being.

D.D.